When you need advice
by La Fantasma
Summary: Set in the present day. What happens when Raoul, Christine, and the Phantom ask a gossip columnist for advice? Read and find out! Nice ending.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters they all belong to Gaston Leroux. Only Jacqueline belongs to me.  
Jacqueline shivered and pulled a soft sweater over her blouse. It was unusually chilly for the Autumn morning but she figured it would probably get warmer later. She pulled open the musty curtains to let the daylight in and made sure the windows were closed. Sighing, she looked out the window at the brown, orange, and gold leaves that scattered her lawn. It was a nice day, she thought, even if it was a bit cold.  
  
She turned and walked to the kitchen to make her usual pot of coffee. She needed it. Not that she wasn't a morning person, although there were times she'd rather have stayed in bed for a few extra hours. No, she said to herself, it was just to help her handle the future stress of the day. And in the news business, she needed a lot of coffee. While impatiently waiting for her coffee to be ready she noticed the flashing red button on her answering machine. She had been so tired last night she hadn't checked her messages.  
  
She pressed the button and went back to the kitchen to get her coffee. While pouring the steamy beverage into her mug, she idly listened to her messages. She sighed exasperatedly as she recognized the voice of the caller. It was Clyde.  
  
".I suppose you'll be terribly upset that you didn't catch this call but don't worry, babe, your man always has time for you."  
  
"Get to the point!" she murmured bitterly. Not that there was any other point to any of Clyde's conversations besides the obvious one. Sex.  
  
".You haven't answered a lot of my calls but then again you probably are busy.or shy. I can understand being shy around a guy like me so I'll be generous and forgive you. But I got to warn you, there are a lot of girls who'd love to have me just glance at them, Jackie! *laughter*  
  
She winced. "Jacqueline," she hissed through clenched teeth. She had always hated that nickname. It wasn't bad. She'd used it a lot when she was younger but she was older now, not a child.  
  
".so what do you say? You and me. Dinner at my place, and afterwards.*laughter* Well, I'm sure we'll find something to do."  
  
"Like, finding some more original lines!" She snapped at the machine. "Or maybe finding more ways to stretch and scrunch up that ugly face of yours." She paused and shook her head. What did she mean by that? Clyde wasn't ugly. He was pretty good looking but in that cheesy and artificial way. And even if he did live on those clichés of his, they often worked. God knows why. But not for her, she didn't like that sort of thing. That, and she didn't want to be thought of as one of his usual bimbos. Like the kind that wear short skirts to work and bend over to pick up anything, even a crumb off the carpet, whenever their boss walked by. It was sick. Probably the second sickest thing to the fact that Clyde worked in the news business too, or at least, he says he actually worked. That's why she was thankful she could do most of her work at home instead of at a stuffy office. She was a gossip/advice columnist. All she had to do was bring her work in on time.  
  
The next call was from her crusty old neighbor complaining that her spaniel had been in her flower bed. Jacqueline paid no attention to this and sipped her coffee. It was usually a lie. It was actually her neighbors own mean poodle, Precious, and not her sweet natured spaniel, Antoinette. Besides, her flowers were dead by this time of season anyway and in spring they didn't look so good anyway. What was the point?  
  
But she knew the answer to that too. Her neighbor was an extreme gossip and always was criticizing her columns. She believed that she should write names and of people that were having affairs and other dirty little secrets, not what Jacqueline had heard was the latest fashion, which movie star was dating which, or in only using initials for people in town that people knew. The hag even swore that she would write a real column someday. Let her try, Jacqueline thought smugly, the old biddy just wanted to stir up the chicken coop. Everyone would be at her throat.  
  
"But this is no time for pleasant thoughts, eh, Tony?" She said stroking the golden brown fur of her spaniel. She walked over to her vanity table and ran a brush through her curled blonde hair. She stopped and looked at the face in her mirror. She started to wonder if this was where she belonged, if this was what she wanted to do. She glanced dreamily at her arm chair. She would love to just sit down, pop in a Sinatra C.D., and read a book she had wanted to finish for a while.  
  
Then she reluctantly turned her gaze to her old desk with papers and a computer covering it, and coffee mug rings on it, and, of course, the garbage bin overflowing with crumpled up paper. 


End file.
